CHAPTER SIX
RAVEN
The motel room feels like a cage—small, suffocating, every inch of space soaked in stale air and cigarette smoke from whoever stayed here before me.
I press my back against the headboard, knees drawn up, phone clutched in my hand like it’s some kind of lifeline.
My breathing is jagged, throat raw from crying.
I keep replaying the last message, his voice slithering into my head, taking up residence.
“I’ll make you feel it, Little Spider. Every inch of my obsession. You’ll scream for me, and when it’s too much, I’ll make you take more. You’ll never forget me.”
I can’t stop shaking. I pull the blankets tighter around me, even though the room is too hot, the ancient heater rattling in the corner. My hands are clammy, fingers twitching against the cracked phone case.
A thud from outside makes me jump. I bite down on a scream, cover my mouth with my hand, and strain to listen. Silence. Just the wind rattling the loose windowpane. I force myself to breathe, counting the seconds between each inhale, willing my heart to stop its frantic pounding.
I check my phone again—nothing new. No messages. It’s been almost an hour since his last text. My stomach churns with the silence, anxiety scraping its way up my throat.
Another noise—this time closer. My eyes dart to the door, and I can’t help but imagine him right outside, fingers tracing the paint, whispering my name through the crack.
My phone buzzes. I jump so hard the blankets slip from my shoulders. I fumble the phone, almost drop it.
A message from him. Just two words.
Open up.
My hands shake harder, and I force myself to type back.
No. Go away.
Three dots appear, and I hold my breath, waiting.
Don’t make me come in. You know I will. Be a good girl and let me in.
I clamp my hand over my mouth, trying to keep the sobs from spilling out. I can’t open the door. If I do, I’ll never be able to close it again. I know that much.
I can hear you crying. It’s pathetic. Stop it. Or do you like knowing I’m listening?
I grit my teeth, wipe the tears from my cheeks. I don’t respond. Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll give up. Maybe he’ll go away.
The phone buzzes again—this time a voice message. My thumb hovers, but I can’t stop myself. I press play.
His voice, calm, almost playful:
“Let’s play a game, Little Spider. You like games, don’t you? I’m feeling generous tonight. You win, I leave. You lose, and I come inside. Easy, right?”
My pulse hammers. I can barely breathe. I force myself to text back.
What kind of game?
His reply is instant.
I ask questions. You answer honestly. You get one lie, and the game’s over. I come in. Understand?
A cold sweat breaks out across my skin. I swallow hard, forcing myself to type.
Fine.
Good girl. First question: Why didn’t you call the police?
My chest tightens, and I stare at the words, the truth clawing at my throat. I know why. Deep down, I’m terrified they won’t believe me. They’ll think I’m just paranoid, making it all up.
I type slowly, hands shaking.
Because I’m scared they won’t believe me.
Dots appear. My skin prickles with tension.
Right answer. See? That wasn’t so hard. Next question: Do you think about me when you’re alone?
My breath catches. I hate how my heart pounds harder at the question, how the fear bleeds into something else—something dark and confusing. I can’t admit that to him. I won’t.
No.
Three dots. Then his reply.
Liar.
A sob bursts out, and I press my hand to my mouth. I don’t know how he knows, but he does. It makes my stomach twist with something I can’t name.
That’s one strike. Careful now. You’re almost out of chances.
I wipe my eyes, forcing myself to breathe.
Next question: Do you want me to stop?
My hands hover over the keyboard, fingers frozen. I should say yes. I should scream it, type it a hundred times. But the truth lodges in my throat, hot and bitter.
My phone buzzes again before I can answer. Another voice message. I hit play, my pulse hammering.
“Do you want me to stop, Raven? Do you want me to walk away, leave you trembling and alone? Or do you want me to wrap you up, whisper in your ear how pretty you look when you’re scared, make you feel every inch of my obsession until you can’t think of anything else?”
My vision blurs. I can’t think. I type without meaning to.
I don’t know.
His reply is instant.
Good girl. Honest this time. I like that.
I curl tighter, knees drawn to my chest. My body feels like it’s on fire, every nerve frayed and exposed.
Last question. Answer carefully: When I finally catch you, will you fight me? Or will you let me ruin you?
My fingers hover, trembling. I don’t know how to answer that. The fear is eating me alive, but underneath it, there’s something darker—something I hate myself for feeling.
I don’t respond. I can’t.
A knock at the door. I freeze, breath hitching. Another knock, louder.
Time’s up, Little Spider. I’m done waiting.
I crawl backwards, pressing myself against the headboard, eyes glued to the door. My phone buzzes one more time. A photo. I force myself to open it.
It’s the motel door—my door. Taken from just outside.
Another knock.
Let me in, Raven. I want to see how much you’re shaking.
I can’t move, can’t breathe. My phone slips from my hands, landing on the floor with a dull thud. I stare at the door, waiting for it to splinter, for him to push through and finally take me.
The doorknob jiggles. A slow, deliberate twist.
And then his voice, muffled but clear, right on the other side:
“Incy wincy spider, trembling on her thread,
Hoping that the shadows will keep her safe in bed.
But darkness knows her secret, knows she’s mine to claim.
And when the night is over, she’ll never be the same.”
I choke on a sob, squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the inevitable.
But the door doesn’t open.
Silence.
When I finally gather the courage to peek, I see nothing through the peephole. Just the empty, flickering hallway.
But I know he’s still out there.
Waiting.
And I know deep down that this game is far from over.
My chest heaves as I try to catch my breath, the motel room suffocating me with stale air and the scent of fear clinging to my skin. The silence stretches on, thick and heavy, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s still right there—just beyond the door, waiting for me to make a sound.
I reach for my phone, fingers trembling, and see another message notification flashing on the screen. I hesitate, but my curiosity and terror are a tangled mess, and I can’t help myself. I unlock it.
You disappointed me, Little Spider. You didn’t play fair.
My stomach knots. I can barely keep my hands steady as I type back.
I did what you asked. I answered.
The reply comes immediately.
But you lied. You didn’t answer the last question. That’s not how the game works.
I bite down on my lip, tasting blood. I can’t let him win, can’t give him that satisfaction. But he’s right—I didn’t answer. I don’t know how.
My phone buzzes with another message.
I’m going to give you one more chance. Open the door, and we’ll play a different game. One where you can win. Or you can keep hiding. Your choice.
My heart pounds. He can’t be serious. I can’t just let him in.
You’re not coming in. I don’t trust you.
The reply is almost instant.
You don’t have to trust me. You just have to obey. Open the door, Raven.
I swallow, feeling the walls press in on me. I want to scream at him to leave, to go away, but deep down, something else stirs—a dark, confusing curiosity. What would happen if I just opened it? If I let him see how broken I am, how desperate?
My phone pings again. Another voice message. I press play, barely breathing.
His voice, low, rich, dripping with dark promise:
“You’ve already let me in, Little Spider. You just haven’t realised it yet. You’re mine. You’ve been mine since the first night I watched you look over your shoulder and shiver. Since you didn’t call the cops. Since you didn’t block my number. You’re inviting me in every time you answer.”
I hate that he’s right. I hate I haven’t blocked him, that I keep responding, like I can’t help but feed into his game.
I stare at the door, legs shaking. My hand hovers over the handle, fingers brushing the cold metal. I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my forehead against the wood, trying to force the fear out.
The phone vibrates again. Another message.
One chance. Open the door. Let me in, and I’ll make you feel something besides fear. Or don’t. But I promise if I have to break in, you’ll regret it.
My pulse races, and my mind spins, caught between dread and something darker—something I don’t want to name. I type back, fingers almost too numb to move.
If I open it, you’ll hurt me.
Three dots. Then his reply.
If I wanted to hurt you, I already would have. I don’t want to break you, Raven. I want to bend you. There’s a difference.
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the wave of something that isn’t fear. I can’t let him win. I can’t give in.
If you open the door, I’ll touch you the way I’ve been imagining. I’ll make you admit you don’t hate this. That you don’t hate me. I’ll hear you say my name. Say it like you need it. Like you need me.
A flush crawls up my neck, heat pooling low in my stomach despite the fear clawing at my throat. I press my hand to my mouth, trying to silence the whimper that slips out.
My phone vibrates again. Another voice message. I hit play before I can think.
His voice, a murmur soaked in wicked promise:
“Imagine it, Little Spider. I’ll pin you to the bed, hands above your head, mouth on your throat, listening to you beg me to stop but knowing you don’t mean it.
You’ll fight because you think you have to.
But once I have you wrapped up in my hands, you’ll realise you don’t want to fight at all. You want to feel it. Want to be mine.”